50 Ways to Say Goodbye
by Empress24601
Summary: Through twenty-three years of mentoring, a revolution, and the world beyond, Haymitch is forced to stare each goodbye in the face. Literally and figuratively, for "The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living." - Marcus Cicero
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So this is a pilot piece, I want to see how something like this will be received. I am not Haymitch, not am I the best writer. But I am always looking to improve, so if you can leave me a review with constructive criticism or advice that would be lovely. I am terrible at naming people also, so if you want to leave a review or PM me with a potential name for a tribute that would be ****much**** appreciated! Hopefully future chapters will be longer than this one. Disclaimer: I am not President Snow and therefore do not own the Hunger Games. Extra Special Thanks go to ILostMySock, who was an angel and went through 23 pages of HG fanfics just to see if there was something like this even though I never asked her to.**

_50__th__ Anniversary Quarter Quell_

Before them was a steep cliff, behind were the woods and field they had just left. He could see all the way to a large lake, if they could make it down there maybe they could find a way out of the arena; some little hole that the Game-makers had overlooked.

"Haymitch."

He turned to look at Maysilee; the setting sun was turning her golden hair a fiery orange.

"I think we better call it quits now."

She looked him straight in the eye and waited for his response, obviously she had been thinking about this for a while. He knew this moment would come, he'd been wondering when he should cut her off, now she was doing it for him. Yet, there was a part of him that desperately wanted them to stay together; they could find a way through this.

"Are you sure?" his voice was rough and scratchy from dehydration.

She stuck her hand out,

"Yeah. We are down to five tributes, and I don't want it to end up just the two of us."

He took the proffered hand, a little reluctantly.

"Ok, see you around I guess."

She smiled a little at that.

"Yeah, no. I don't think we will, but it was nice to know you. Best of luck to you, Haymitch."

"It was nice to know you too, Maysilee."

She turned and ran off towards the field from where they had come, her golden hair streaming behind her, like the tail of a comet. He was going to miss her.

But he wasn't really the sentimental type. Turning around he continued to look beyond the cliff; it looked like there might be a way he could get down, until about halfway. At the middle point, there was a sheer cliff that extended for a solid thirty feet and from there to the bottom there were only minimal handholds. It would take some serious skills to manage the descent; he picked up a pebble and threw it over the edge. For a few moments it plummeted to the ground, but before he could blink again it whizzed back by his ear.

_What?_

_Why had it come back? It made no sense for the rock to come _up_, did it? _

_He wasn't a genius, but flying rocks...wait, it started making some crazy kind of sense._

He started to laugh as everything came together in his mind. Of course the Capitol would pen the tributes; they were all prize money-makers, there had to be a way to corral them without a visible fence.

A shriek pierced the air behind him; something deep in him knew exactly who it was. The sprint he made towards the sound would have broken records.

But he was too late.

He knew when he saw her, tearing towards him with the flock of pink birds behind her, that he could not help her. He still ran as fast as he could to try. The killer candy-colored monsters caught up to her just before he was able to; needle sharp beaks hit her from behind, piercing through flesh and sinew. She went down with another blood curdling scream, one that went straight through his heart. With a hurried movement he ripped off his jacket and used it to swat at the birds, yelling at them, swinging his knife wildly through the air. Eventually they scattered and he was left there, panting as they flew back to the forest.

Maysilee was curled on her side, alternately retching and trying to breathe. He knelt at her side and lifted her gently holding her supported against his left knee; he brought his right hand up to her throat and pressed gently in an attempt to stem the bleeding. But he could already tell it was useless. She smiled up at him, though her eyes were clouded with pain.

"You idiot." She managed to say, "you aren't supposed to be here, we split...remember."

"People say I'm stubborn."

She swallowed convulsively, her blue eyes screwing up with the effort; he gripped her hand tightly until she opened them again.

"We'll get out of here Maysilee," He whispered, leaning in close. "I think I found a way out."

"Found...my...way." She whispered, the words coming with difficulty.

"No, I mean together, alive. We'll go home."

They had only met a few days before, they had been thrown together by accident, yet somehow it was no accident. He didn't want to admit to anyone how much he would miss her.

She placed a hand on the side of his face, leaving it there for a moment before letting it fall.

"Win..." She whispered her eyes still boring into his. Something passed behind them and she was no longer looking at him, she was no longer looking anywhere.

She was gone.

He laid her on the ground, folded her arms over her chest, and closed eyelids over sky-blue orbs that would never see again. He turned and left her lying there in the field; let the hovercraft come to collect the dead. He could feel her blood drying on his face and his hand, it only hardened him. He didn't want to escape anymore, he wanted to kill every tribute in this arena, he wanted to win this game to spite every Capitol dweller who had ever doubted the citizens of district twelve, he wanted to win for the girl who had asked him to, and for everyone at home who had not.

He turned his back on the cliff and the body of Maysilee Donner, in front of him stood the forest and, somewhere within it, the remaining three tributes.

He began to run.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Omigosh, I'm soooooooooooooooooo sorry! I lost the thumb drive that this story was on, and then life was full of family birthdays and midterms and funerals and I didn't have any time to write. Extra long apology chapter though, forgive me? For anyone interested, I should have a chapter up for my Paul Blofis story very soon.**

**Seriously though, if you don't want characters named Englebert Humperdink, send me some suggestions. I really am bad at naming people. **

**Reviews are super encouraging, so if you don't mind dropping me a line I will be eternally grateful. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Cmedance who reviewed. Thank you so much for that!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games**

_Year One_

He hated mirrors.

This world he now lived in was a world of brittle smiles, fake laughter, bright colors, loud noises, and sugar-coated stilettos. It was possible to move through each day, conforming to protocols and status quos, to dance with each devil as they came. But to catch sight of yourself in a mirror was to be reminded of who you truly were, what you had done.

They made it impossible to hide from yourself.

But mirrors were everywhere in this land of peacocks, the only thing you could do was accustom yourself to them. It was not unlike taking small amounts of poison every day to build up a tolerance.

He gazed in the mirror in front of him and straightened his tie, charcoal gray silk. He would do his job here, he would tolerate the absurdities of these people, but there was no way in hell he would let them dress him like a walking rainbow. Black was his color of choice. Black was for anger, it was for remorse, for unhappiness, for mourning. It was a simple rebellion, the color of his clothing, but it was still a rebellion. A deep breath, a touch of cologne on his now clean shaven face, one last tug at the wrinkles of his suit jacket, and he walked out of his room on the train. Looking out the window, he couldn't tell where they were only that it was somewhere cold. Large fluffy snowflakes fell from the clouds, obscuring the view from the glass. But the weather didn't stop the train engineer from pushing the machine to its full two hundred mile-an-hour limit. Slowly he made his way down to the dining car, hoping that he could avoid contact with people for as long as possible.

No such luck.

Carmalitta was sitting primly at the dining table, sipping on a glass of green goop. The escort had a white boa thrown around slim shoulders, a knee length sheath dress that was an almost blinding yellow, and shoes that were so tall they would be amusing if they didn't look so dangerous. Her metallic silver colored hair was pulled into a gravity-defying series of braids and buns that looked positively painful, and today it was a gaudy color green spread across her eyelids, clashing with the lilac purple of her skin.

She noticed him standing in the doorway before he had a chance to retreat back to his room.

"There you are!"

He winced at the shrillness of her voice.

"Come and sit, Haymitch. Did you eat yet, oh what am I saying of course you haven't that why you're here. Come and sit down, there is food over there, but of course you really should just drink this," she pushed her drink towards him, he recoiled at the smell. "It really is amazing. My physician told me to drink it instead of eating; it does wonders for my skin really. And I've noticed that my eyesight has gotten better too, probably the only thing it doesn't do is compliment my wardrobe but that's not a problem, because I never eat in public. Are you ready to meet the other mentors? After the meeting and mentor's ball we get to choose next year's contestants, won't that be just thrilling? Perhaps we'll get another winner this year. Did you sleep well enough last night? Really, you shouldn't be wearing that dreadful suit; you should choose something a little more lively. I thing blue would go wonderfully with your hair, or maybe green. Yes, I think green would be lovely, it goes well with purple, I shall ask your stylist to make you a green suit."

"I don't want a green suit."

Somewhere in the middle of her monologue he had tuned her out. The shrill timbre of her voice combined with the Capitol accent and the early morning was just too much for his aching head. Last night had been accompanied by more nightmares than usual and he had spent most of the dark hours pacing back and forth between his bed and the window. He was not in the mood for a discussion on his wardrobe; he walked over to the buffet table and picked up a plate.

"But surely you must want some kind of color; I can't believe you accept that kind of garbage from your stylist. The cut is passable, but you need color to stand out in the Capitol. You will not get attention from anyone in something like that. You must look for clothing that is bold, unique, and stylish."

He came and sat down at the table, his plate loaded with bacon, sausage, eggs, and various other breakfast meats. Carmalitta wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Let me ask you something." He said, leaning in. She nodded, her eyes shining, clothing was all she ever really wanted to talk about.

"Do you ever see anyone wear black in the Capitol?"

She shook her head, large feather earring dancing.

"Does anyone wear anything like this?"

Again, she shook her head.

"Does everyone there try to wear the brightest colors and the newest fashions?"

She nodded emphatically; he sat back in his chair and attacked his breakfast.

"There you go then."

Her forehead creased and she looked confused.

"There I go what."

"If I'm not doing what everyone else is doing, then I am the bold, stylish, unique one." He said through a mouthful of breakfast sausage.

Clearly logic was not the escort's strong point. The next ten minutes were blissfully silent as she sat, forehead creased in thought as she tried to process this type of reasoning.

"But the coming year's tributes." she began to gush, after a few minutes after attempting to use her brain and obviously failing.

"It isn't a Quarter Quell, so it won't be nearly as interesting as your victory. But I have a good feeling about this year." She gripped his arm and gave him a conspiratorial wink. "I think we'll get another winner."

He gave Carmalitta a look of pure disgust. He may be only seventeen, but he knew that gambling with the lives of children was something which should have never crossed the mind of anyone, let alone that of those in power. With a fluid motion he tipped back the mug of what they called "coffee" and rose from his chair, not even deigning to look again at Carmalitta as he left the room.

He spun a gold-colored woman around the dance floor, trying to avoid getting his face too close to hers because her breath reeked of seafood and alcohol. She seemed extremely happy to be dancing with the latest victor though; apparently he wasn't doing his job well enough. He had given in to Carmalitta's nagging and let his stylist dress him up; meaning he now wore a green silk tie with the standard black suit. That was as Capitol as he was going.

So far this Mentor's ball had been a nightmare. All the mentors knew that the real purpose of the party was to keep tabs on the victors and to force cooperation if needed, but there had to be an easier way to do that surely. The sticky heat of the ballroom, the forced niceties, the obscenely exotic food, they were all an intricate form of torture. A way for the President and the Capitol to say, "See this? I control it. And now I control you."

The song ended and he led the woman to the corner of the room where her rainbow crowd of friends waited, bowing he left as quickly as socially acceptable. Back to his hiding place by the huge window curtains, where he would stay until Carmalitta fished him out again. Another dance started and he watched the couples, not really seeing any of them. A nudge on his elbow brought him out of his trance, the mentor for district eleven stood next to him, two glasses in his huge hands. Haymitch's mind automatically began plotting escape routes and looking for possible weapons.

The bigger man held out one of the glasses, "Ain't no way out of here." He said in a low voice, his accent thick but understandable.

Haymitch took the proffered glass and sniffed the contents; it was some kind of alcohol judging by the burning in his nostrils. The man from eleven gazed out at the dancers; Haymitch set his glass down surreptitiously and did the same.

"When I first got here, I was the same as you." The man said after a few minutes of silence.

"You've never been the same as me." Haymitch replied, eyeing the other's beefy arms and enormous hands. The other just gave a chuckle.

"You can call me Chaff," he said, "and I have been like you. The look you had on your face is one that I understand, you still feel hunted don't you?"

Haymitch felt obliged to nod; it was true, he couldn't sleep at night unless he had a weapon within easy reach.

"We are all hunted." He gestured to the dance floor. "Everybody who came, yet were not 'invited' are the hunted ones. You are not the only one, kid. You are just now joining us."

Haymitch wasn't quite sure what to say, he started edging away slowly.

"There is a bug where I come from, goes by the name of the Catalpa worm. It is actually not a worm, but a caterpillar. And they will strip the trees of every leaf they have."

Haymitch looked at him, not exactly sure where this conversation was supposed to go. When had bugs come up in their conversation, and why did he care?

"But thankfully there is a kind of wasp, it lays its eggs inside the caterpillar. The larvae will hatch and eat everything but the vitals of the caterpillar host. Then they will grow a little and form cocoons that hang off of the caterpillar."

Chaff nailed Haymitch with his intense brown gaze.

"They destroy the caterpillar from the inside, all while the caterpillar doesn't even realize what is happening."

The silence hung like lead between them, Chaff looking expectant, Haymitch not really knowing what to do with the information he had just been given.

"Right then." He finally said, "Thank you for the lesson in…bugs. Absolutely fascinating, but I am going to go find the escort I came with."

"When you have learned about the caterpillar come and find me." Chaff said, obviously disappointed.

Haymitch gave a noncommittal shrug and pushed through the crowd to find Carmalitta. The escort forced his to stay for three more dances, through each one he could still feel the burn of Chaff's eyes on him. Waiting until he worked through the riddle of caterpillars and wasps.

It was a great day for a reaping.

The grim thought kept repeating itself in his head as he stood on the stage waiting while hundreds of children filed into the fenced off area. The skies had decided it was a great time to rain, apparently even the heavens knew it was a day to cry.

As a mentor, he was given the honor of staying dry, an Avox stood behind him holding an umbrella. For everyone else though, it was misery. Every child dressed in their Sunday best was soaked to the skin, but they stood in line, patiently awaiting their fates. Like sheep going to the slaughter. He wanted to save them, to dash down the steps and hide them all in the woods, to use his elevated status to keep them hidden, where they couldn't be hurt. The part of his brain that was still thinking rationally slapped the other side. There was no way that it would work, they would get hunted down in minutes. The best he could do was protect the two that came into his charge, and to bring one out alive.

Carmalitta strutted across the stage in her elaborate shoes, the female Avox trailing behind her careful not to let a drop of rain get past the umbrella she held over the escort's head. She plucked a slip of paper out of the glass bowl and read it.

"Jennifer Barrow!"

Sulence reigned supreme, until movement in the crowd on the girls' section signaled the arrival of that year's tribute. She passed by him on her way to the center of the stage. She looked young, maybe thirteen or fourteen, her eyes looked frightened but there was a hardness to her jaw, maybe she was tougher than she was letting on. Carmalitta repeated her earlier procedure with the bowl of male names.

"Geoffrey McCallin!"

Her Capitol accent mutilated the boy's name; he too passed Haymitch on his way to the center of the stage. At maybe sixteen, he was tall and muscular for his age, blonde hair dark with water was plastered to his forehead, covering his eyes. But Haymitch didn't need to see his eyes to notice the trembling in his hands, or the uncertainty of his footsteps.

"Please give a big round of applause for this year's tributes!" Carmalitta's voice sounded much too perky over the speakers. The requested applause started up, but it was dead, the lifeless movement of unexcited hands. The two children were shepherded into the building behind the stage, after a moment, he followed with a heavy heart. It was time for his work to begin.

All four of them sat around the table in the dining car, Carmalitta was drinking her awful goop again, but Haymitch had taken control of the children's diets. They each had solid helpings of meats and vegetables, he gave them plenty but was ready to caution them against eating too much too quickly. He was doing his best to prep them for the Capitol, but they kept staring out the windows.

"Hey, focus!" He said, they looked back at him a little guiltily.

"When we get there you will feel out of place. Everyone looks like her." He pointed his fork at Carmalitta who shrieked in horror.

"They do not! I am unique! There is no one with my taste."

"I sure hope so." He muttered, she scowled, but the two kids smiled a little.

"First thing they are going to want to do is 'fix you up', they want to make you look pretty for their cameras, it improves ratings. Do not fight them, I am in charge of your stylists, if you don't want something come and tell me. If you fight them you'll end up with embarrassing tattoos or something. After that comes training, we'll handle that when we get there but I _will_ train you, understand?" They nodded obediently and he went back to his breakfast, watching them as they returned to theirs. The boy picked at his food mostly, pushing it around the plate while he was lost in thought. The girl ate her portion quickly and efficiently, cleaning every morsel off of the fancy china. When she finished, she tipped back a mug of the coffee, straight black, thumping it back on the table she leaned forward on her elbows.

"So start training now. What's the best way to handle the arena?" Her voice was heavy, almost bored sounding, as if this was a grungy job that someone had delegated to her. Which, in a way it was, but he expected someone whose life was on the line to show a little more interest.

"You don't 'Handle the Arena'," he told her. "It comes as a total surprise to everyone, you just have to take what comes and adapt. Either you force your surroundings to work for you, or you die. All I can do is try to prepare you for every possible scenario."

"Survival of the fittest." The boy muttered.

"Exactly." Haymitch replied.

"Great," The girl said, slumping back in her chair, "can you tell us something we don't already know?"

At that moment, there was nothing he would rather do than reach across the table and smack this girl until some form of sense entered her head. Couldn't she see he was trying to help them?

He grabbed a pen and a napkin, placing an inky dot right in the center of the snowy linen. Behind him, Carmalitta stifled a shriek.

"This is everything you know about the games." He said, indicating the blot and skewering the girl with his gaze. With a quick movement he ripped the cloth in half and dropped it to the ground.

"Everything you know is worthless."

She glared back at him with angry black eyes, he met her gaze head on. After a moment she looked back down and he relaxed, the question of dominance settled for the moment.

"No, no, no, no, NO!" He ran to the mat, stopping the sparring match. "Geoffrey, keep your head UP! Never look away from your opponent! Jennifer, keep your arms tight to your body, you want to be a smaller target, there is less chance of something getting hacked off that way." He stepped away again, "Now go again."

They obeyed, circling each other hesitantly, watching each other's movements. Jennifer lashed out with a left hook but Geoffrey deflected, maintaining his guard. Again and again Jennifer attacked, only to have her blows sent astray or dodged, but never once did the boy strike out.

"What are you doing?" Haymitch yelled from the sidelines.

"I don't hit women." Geoffrey yelled back.

"Oh for the love of…" Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. "Well they are more than happy to hit you, and they won't be gentle about it either. The arena is no place for chivalry."

Geoffrey called time and Jennifer lowered her arms, crossing them across her chest in irritation.

"I will not go against what I've been taught." He said simply.

"Fine, if you can't kill them, beat them up and leave them. Someone else will do the dirty work."

"That seems harsh." The boy said with a sneer.

"And the fact that you were culled to participate in a fight to the death isn't? You are acting like an idiot, boy. The Hunger Games themselves are the epitome of harsh, deal with it. Now start over"

That was the first of a series of brutal training sessions, they never had the same argument twice.

Day one of the games, he was sitting by himself at the common square; the ideal place for a mentor to play up the strengths of their tributes and try to get sponsors. That seemed an easy enough job if you watched the mentors from one and two, but it was not so easy for the smaller districts where training didn't start until it was legal to train.

He bit his bottom lip as the signal sounded for the games to officially begin. He watched as Jennifer launched herself off her platform and sprinted towards the Cornucopia, his gut twisted as he urged her to go faster. She couldn't see the tribute from three closing in behind he. He risked a quick glance towards Geoffrey, the boy was hanging back, going for the items farther from the cone. Another tribute came towards him in an effort to reach the same pack, Geoffrey picked it up and ran as fast as he could in the other direction.

That effectively killed any chance of getting him a sponsor. The audience didn't like cowards.

He looked back to Jennifer, finding her in the midst of a brawl over a brace of knives. A beefy girl from eleven made a quick movement and his star tribute went down. When the others cleared, he could see the line of blood and bruising around her throat. She had been strangled.

He slammed his fist against the counter, a deep sense of guilt pulled at his heart. There was one child who would never again see home.

Resolve hardened in his gaze. He would just have to focus all his attention on keeping his other charge alive.

He had managed to get a few sponsors, Geoffrey had been the grateful recipient of a canteen of water and heat deflecting blanket. The Gamemakers had created a cruel place, a desert wasteland with few oasis's and few places to hide from the grueling heat.

Haymitch watched closely as Geoffrey came up to a pool shaded by a few palm trees, he internally praised the boy as his charge carefully checked for traps. This was the kind of caution that had managed to gain the few supporters the boy had.

With one last quick glance around for enemies, Geoffrey stooped to fill his canteen. When that was done, he splashed a little on his face and took a sip directly from the pool.

"You idiot!" Haymitch jumped up from his place on the couch. Carmalitta gave his a cross look.

He watched the boy's eyes widen and he knew with a sickening sense of dread that the worst case scenario was the current scenario.

"No!" He picked up one of the fancy throw pillows and tore it in half.

"What is wrong with you?" Carmalitta demanded, aghast at the wanton destruction.

"He didn't check for poison." Haymitch answered glumly as he turned his attention back to the screen.

Geoffrey lay curled up on his side now, alternately retching and trying to breath. The arms clamped firmly around his middle let Haymitch know in no uncertain terms that his charge was in excruciating pain. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Five minutes of progressively worsening pain, accompanied by groans and screams, Geoffrey died. He lay in a pool of his own sick until the cannon sounded and the hovercraft picked him up. Haymitch took a deep breath, it looked like he was going to have to face two grieving families instead of just one.

It was late but Haymitch couldn't sleep. The nightmares would not let him out of their grip, Maysilee was now accompanied by Jennifer and Geoffrey. He took out a sheet of paper.

_Maysilee Donner_

_Jennifer Barrow_

_Geoffrey McCallin_

He carefully folded the paper and placed it in the cover of the only book he owned, an old copy of something titled 'Les Miserables'. It was a huge tome that he had never actually read, Carmalitta had dragged him to the store and told him they weren't leaving until he chose something frivolous to buy. With everything else within reach looking like the rainbow had puked on it, this seemed like the best choice.

He closed the cover and closed his eyes, praying to anything that would listen for help to tackle the new demons associated with being a losing mentor.


End file.
